Sparks
by AsteriaLumina
Summary: Lady Charlotte Eton is noble-blooded, brilliant and beautiful. Lord Cutler Beckett is powerful, ruthless and arrogant. He needs a wife and she needs a husband. She thinks he is insufferably arrogant, and he believes she's quite the catch. So, what now? Incendiary sparks fly when they're together, but the perfect match? Cutler Beckett/OC. Slight AU. Rework of My Fair Charlotte.


**Sparks: Chapter One**

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 **Disclaimer and Author's Note:**

I don't own PoTC. I know, it hurts me too. This is a bit long, but quite necessary, I think. _Sparks_ is my renovation of a previous story I had up called _My Fair Charlotte._ There were some issues with that. I had been accused of plagiarizing _The Courtship_ by _Bellantry._ Strongly negative words had been aimed at me for the striking similarities between our stories, and I never once had the idea of even replicating Bellantry's ideas from her story into mine. First point to address: yes, my idea for the story was a courtship, which was also a highlighted theme in Bellantry's fic. I personally find many aspects of our stories to differ, such as _The Courtship_ involving much more different types of characters and situations than mine. For example, the King and the use of the English court. My story does not include that, despite settings that are the same.

Please don't misunderstand me when I say that I read _The Courtship_ around the time that I was working on _My Fair Charlotte,_ and I highly admired Bellantry's work. However, it never struck me to 'lift her ideas' and use them as my own. I'm a writer, therefore plagiarism is not something I would intentionally and knowingly do. There are several other wonderful stories out in this fandom that have the concept of a love-hate courtship between Lord Beckett and an OC, countless ones and it should be deemed as an outstanding coincidence due to the narrow idea of the plot. I realize that certain elements are the same, such as a stroll in the gardens and the double-sided reactions of the characters to one another, and perhaps they were noticed to be the same because you've come across the exact sort of situation in another story. It doesn't mean that I'm strictly copying another's work and that my work will follow theirs explicitly down to the resolution. I write mainly for myself and for whoever cares to take interest in my writing. There is no malicious intent toward other writers. The lovely Bellantry and I have already spoken about the issues and settled them. With that said, onto the show!

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"Oh, just look at him, would you? The divine image of a proper, perfect gentleman. Wealthy, handsome, charming and powerful? My _goodness_..." Lily Eton sighed to her elder sister as she rested her chin in her gloved hand, leaning against the stone balustrade of the terrace they were standing upon. Her grey eyes were dreamy and soft as she watched the man in question, delicate fingers twirling a powdered curl that rested down the back of her neck and over her nearly exposed shoulder.

Her sister, Charlotte, rolled her own sparkling grey eyes with a chuckle, "You know I don't pay attention, Lily. I'm not intent on marrying myself off so easily, like our exalted host's daughter, who seems to have glued herself to Lord Apsley's arm. He does look quite uncomfortable, but I suppose we call Miss Evelyn a leech for a reason. Besides, unlike you, I grew up with him present in the house on a weekly basis. His arrogance makes up for his height deficiency, I assure you."

Both sisters let their matching pairs of eyes travel to a willowy blonde, Evelyn Harvey, who was draped across a young lord and chattering about the latest parties in London. It was no lie that Lady Evelyn was pleasant to look at and blue-blooded, but she lacked the intelligence to hold up a fruitful conversation and was intent on marrying the most handsome and endowed aristocrat that she could get her hands on. It was a distasteful quality, though not a rare finding in London.

Charlotte wasn't interested in courtship and marriage at all, let alone in that particular man. At least, not very much. Turning back to face the spacious, buzzing gardens, the dark-haired girl watched the guests of the tea party leisurely walk the lawns and mazes of the estate; ladies held their hats as gentlemen led them along the cobbled paths, and several had to chase after their parasols that floated off in the meandering breeze, drawing giggles from their more prim contemporaries. It was all the same goings-on, every day. Charlotte would attend social events held by dukes and baronesses, viscounts and governors, and Lily would accompany her with their chaperone. If she didn't have a social schedule for the day, she would attend her music lessons and sew, read or take walks. It was the monotonous life of a well-born lady who was expected to marry well and bear sons. Charlotte hungered for adventure, but it was not to be. Her parents, the Duke and Duchess of Windbourne, would never allow it. It wouldn't surprise her if her mother the Duchess disowned her on the spot for even mentioning the word _adventure_ ; luckily, her father was more lenient and understanding, which was a primary reason why Charlotte gravitated toward him.

Turning her line of vision back to the man, she saw that he was impeccably dressed in burgundy and gold-lined coat, waistcoat and breeches that seemed to be made out of the most expensive materials, along with a gold-braided tricorne hat resting on his powdered wig. He was Lord Cutler Beckett, the director of the prestigious East India Trading Company, representative of King George, and the most powerful man in the English Empire after His Majesty himself. Ten years her senior, he had countless enemies, vast fortunes, and controlled all trade that occurred in the world. Admittedly, he was extremely beguiling and devastatingly attractive, and Charlotte had danced with him many times at the festivities of London society, not to mention that she had grown up with him often paying visits to her home in order to do business with her father. He had told her that she was intelligent and held conversations that he would carry on forever if he could, although Charlotte seriously doubted she was the only young woman he whispered such pretty words to. They clashed often, with snide remarks and frequent penchants for one-upping one another.

Besides, her family had been acquainted with the Becketts for quite a long time and Charlotte had grown up seeing Cutler Beckett around their house here and now. Despite her previous disdain for him that stemmed from his arrogance and her dislike for it, Charlotte had grown to admire him as much as any other girl as she grew older.

She was snapped out of her reverie when her sister, who stood beside her, suddenly flushed pink and dropped a flustered curtsy, gracefully smoothing down her red chintz robe d'anglaise. Out of her periphery, Charlotte saw a flash of burgundy, a color she quite liked and somehow, she had a feeling it was the man she had been watching and talking of with her sister. Large, doe-like eyes travelled up to meet steely blue ones and a warm blush crept into her lightly rouged cheeks.

"Miss Charlotte, Miss Lily. What a pleasure to encounter you this afternoon," Lord Beckett greeted in a charming manner, taking each girl's hand in turn and placing a light kiss on it. It was almost laughable how respectable he was behaving, given how present he was in Lily and Charlotte's lives. Standing behind him was his ever-present clerk, the intimidating and scar-ridden David Mercer, who passively stood akin to a sentinel beside his employer, appearing as if he had experienced the death of a beloved one, although it was a mystery to whether he had any compassion at all.

"Lord Beckett, the pleasure is all mine," Charlotte replied with a demure smile, unable to resist the charm that lured her in like a fish to bait.

Bloody hell, she thought. How could any woman resist? Lily uttered a greeting and continued to blush like a primrose, pretty and delicate. At 16 years old, Lily was out in society and searching for suitors, though she was intent on finding her 18-year-old sister a proper husband first. After all, it would be quite an item of societal criticism if your younger sibling made an advantageous match before you did.

"It truly is a lovely day for a little gathering such as this, you put the roses to shame with your beauty," Beckett smoothly complimented, "Would you care to accompany me on a round in the rose garden?"

Batting her lace-edged fan to conceal her mirthless smirk, Charlotte laughed lightly, "That would be quite lovely."

She allowed Lord Beckett to take her gloved hand and lead her down the steps toward the enchanting rose garden, the scent of the blooming roses circulating around her. Curious pairs of eyes naturally followed society's most eligible bachelor and one of its most celebrated socialites with mild interest. The pair stepped through the little arbor that separated the rose garden from the main lawn, away from the indiscreet lords and ladies of the upper crust. It made Charlotte feel peaceful, being surrounded by simple nature, and a part of her was quite glad that Lord Beckett had asked her to walk with him, out of all the other prospects he could have chosen. There was just that spark she felt, or perhaps it was just satisfying to see the crestfallen looks that swept like a wildfire among the females present.

"It's lovely," Charlotte breathed, closing her eyes and inhaling the sweet fragrance as they ambled down the path, with him holding his tricorne and watching her with amusement.

"I'm not much of a flora enthusiast, although I must agree," Beckett agreed, eyes sharply observing the woman before him. Indeed, she had grown into quite the epitome of a woman, and Cutler appreciated all things beautiful.

"How is company business? I hear the spice trade is quite profitable, unless I received some unfortunate misinformation," Charlotte inquired smartly, falling into step beside Lord Beckett, truly curious about the new merchandise that her father took so much interest in. She herself found interest in the company, often listening in on her father's meetings and finding a sort of joy in helping his clerks sort the ledgers.

"Well enough, although the laborers might need a spur in the right direction," Lord Beckett shrugged, unsurprised at her knowledge of the new venture. Ladies were normally ignorant, but Charlotte Eton was different. After all, she spent her childhood spying at keyholes instead of playing with _poupees._ "I know your father purchased a shipment of cargo from one of my merchants."

"He has, and I doubt he regretted it. You, sir, are helping my father in padding my purchases at Glovinger's," Charlotte laughed, twirling a rose between her fingers, before holding onto his arm with one hand as they rounded back toward the estate.

"God save the poor lout that ends up wedding you, you'll run his coffers dry," Beckett dryly replied, eliciting a glare from his companion. It was a strange relationship the pair shared, which was both socially acceptable, but peppered with sarcastic wit and snide comments.

Suddenly, shouts for them sounded down the flowery corridor they walked on, and as they turned the corner, a large commotion was forming on the terrace. Mr. Mercer stalked over with a grim look on his marred features, before Charlotte saw her sister in the midst of the crowd, lying on the ground. A choked gasp escaped her lips, as she knew exactly what was happening. She ran over as quickly as she could, fighting through the crowd of perfumed nobles to fall beside Lily. Lily was inflicted with epilepsy, a genetic inheritance from her mother, and it was not known in society as no one would have Lily if it were widely known. This was the first time that the girl was afflicted in public, and Charlotte feared the consequences.

A calm voice beside her ear sounded. "Move out of the way, Charlotte. Mr. Mercer will convey her to my carriage and we will escort you home."

His mouth was set in a grim line, as he had respect for the Duke and knew that if his daughters remained, gossip would spread like wildfire. Charlotte nodded and allowed him to escort her quickly through the estate and to the front drive, where a sleek carriage awaited them. Her chaperone was nowhere to be found, as was her driver, who wasn't due for another 2 hours. As she was helped into the carriage, she was struck with how kind Cutler Beckett was being to her and her sister. He only did such things when there was something to gain.

As the carriage started to move, Charlotte looked over to her sister, who leaned against the side of the smooth leather with a withdrawn expression. She gently stroked Lily's hair, before glancing over at the Lord who sat across them.

"Thank you, Lord Beckett. I wouldn't have known of what to do if you weren't there to assist us. I truly appreciate it," she quietly said, mustering a small, appreciative smile. She leaned her head back into the seat cushion with a sigh, seeing her home rise into the distance: a great stone house surrounded by acres and acres of spacious land. The house was reminiscent of a French palace, all her mother's doing. It was late afternoon, both her parents would be in the drawing room.

As the carriage rumbled up the driveway, the Duchess of Windbourne saw the unfamiliar livery and nudged her husband in curiosity. Upon further inspection, the beautiful Lady Eton saw her eldest daughter exiting the carriage, and quickly gave a gasp of despair as Lily was carried from the carriage. She quickly dragged her husband out of the parlor, down the stairs and through the hall until they reached the foyer, where the housekeeper was wringing her hands in distress.

"What is the meaning of this?" she called, bringing her hands to hold onto her corseted chest, her dark eyes falling onto her daughters.

The Duke of Windbourne, portly and serious, let his eyes rove to Lord Beckett as he asked, "What has happened, Cutler? Was she felled by her affliction?" His grey eyes worriedly glanced to his daughter, who was guided up to her room and prepared be examined by the physician.

"Yes, Eton. Your driver was not present, and I saw the need to escort both ladies home safely, lest people begin to speak more than they are of the incident," Lord Beckett nodded, doffing his hat to the Duchess, who offered him a casual nod.

"Cutler, we are so grateful for your help, if not for you, my poor girls would have been shamed," she began slowly, her hands wringing her handkerchief.

Lord Beckett bowed to the older woman with a small smile, "It was of no inconvenience, I assure you, Lady Eton. I also took the liberty of calling a company physician to check on Miss Lily."

"How kind of you, Lord Beckett. We must invite you to tea with us this Friday, will you be available? Allow us to host you," Lady Eton suggested with a patronizing smile on her fair features.

"It would be my pleasure to join you, my lady. But now, I must leave as business at the office calls me," Lord Beckett graciously replied with a tip of his hat. "Eton, the new shipment from Bombay is expected to port by next Friday, by the way."

Charlotte was tasked with seeing their guest off. What luck.

"Thank you, Lord Beckett. I can't express how thankful I am and I know my sister is also appreciative of your actions today," she sweetly replied, fidgeting with the rose-colored silk of her gown. The iridescent color kept her eyes from going to his features, which were fixed on her intently.

"As I have assured, Miss Charlotte, it is of no trouble to me. I will see you Friday for tea," he nodded, before kissing her hand and leaping into the carriage, followed by Mr. Mercer. As she watched the carriage rumble down the way, the spot he had kissed on Charlotte's hand tingled with warmth. It puzzled her, but a smile played on her lips as she slowly ambled back into the house, inexplicably confused with her own thoughts.

As she gradually reached the age of 18, Charlotte was increasingly given grief by her mother for her unmarried state. According to Lady Eton, the least that she could have done was find a proper aristocrat to court her. It wouldn't have been a difficult task, given her celebrated looks. However, Charlie didn't give a fig about courtships and marriages, and no one had held her precious attention for more than a fortnight. At least, not yet. Instead, the brunette found that her interest was focused in business and the outside world beyond the galas and fine dresses, and her mother was dismayed by the amount of leniency granted to her eldest daughter by her husband. The eldest Eton daughter's unconventional occupation was reinforced with her calculating, matter-of-fact mind, and more often than not, she listened at the door during the Duke's meetings.

Being well-versed in the machinations of the cutthroat business world also meant that Charlotte was highly aware of the filthy pirates that threatened the natural flow of the world. As a young girl, she had been educated on the sins and misdeeds of lowlife vermin, and had an almost unnatural dislike for them. More often than not, Lord Eton frequently thought to himself that it would be worthless to marry such an educated girl off to some lord that would shut her away, when she could be benefiting him with her beauty and head for dealing. That being said, he was extremely severe on any young man that approached him for his daughter's hand.

Power was what men like Lord Eton and Lord Beckett thrived on. It was their livelihood, their scepters of control and the object of their rise to prominence. Charles Eton had inherited an ungodly sum of money and estates from his ancestral title, and multiplied his worth tenfold by joining the board of the East India Trading Company and involving himself in mercantile business.

Every decision he made had the undercurrent of a desire for power, whether it was for him or if it benefited him in the least. And that was the reason why he pondered the matter of marrying Charlotte to Lord Beckett. The power, the prestige and the influence to be gained was a treasure trove as rich as sparkling jade and ivory tusks from the Orient. And so, it was of no surprise to Charlotte when Friday came and she was presented with a gown far too lavish for just afternoon tea.

It was a lovely thing, made of emerald silk and edged in tiny, pristine pearls, which were extremely expensive to obtain. A length of fine grosgrain tied around the waist accentuated her perfect waist and one dark brow arched as Charlotte critically glanced at the bodice, over which peeked a decent display of the top of her breasts. It was enough to lure in a man and turn him into an infatuated fool, that much could be said.

 _Mother, you scheming, clever thing._

"Eleanor, you couldn't have chosen a simpler dress, could you?" she muttered, grimacing as her dark locks were set into a twist and pinned into shape. Eleanor gave the slightest smile to her long-time mistress, but offered no reply as she clasped a simple string of pearls around the younger girl's slender neck.

Lily was still abed recovering, and so Charlotte made her way to the airy drawing room by herself, a lace-edged fan held tightly within her fingers. He was the first thing her eyes lit on as the footman opened the doors for her, and a flush crept up Charlotte's cheeks as she felt the intensity of his gaze on her. The gown had fulfilled its purpose.

"Lord Beckett. It is a pleasure to see you again, my Lord." The smallest smile curved her lips as Charlotte dipped into a polite curtsy.

"Lady Charlotte." It was a simple reply, but the intensity of his gaze made up for the succinct greeting she received. His eyes gave her the barest once-over, taking in the gown with visible interest.

"I'm quite glad you could join us today, I would have thought that you'd be masterminding another scheme to take control of more trade routes and ruin more lives," Charlie smirked, well-aware of the company's most recent aims of acquisition. "It's surprising to see that such an enterprising, busy gentleman as yourself has the time to take tea with socialites and their mothers."

"I only have the time to spare if the lady in question is worthwhile, as my standards are always retained in whatever I choose to do. I'm sure my men can manage one day without disrupting the balance of the world."

Charlotte's grey eyes rolled almost imperceptibly, "You're complimenting me? How flattering. I was going to ask the good Lord to have mercy on the poor girl who is to be subjected to your precious attention; I must say I'm disappointed to realize it is I."

"I prefer to think that you enjoy my attentions but your insufferable sense of pride prevents you from realizing what a privilege it is, Charlotte." Even the stern Mr. Mercer allowed the barest quirk of his lips at the outraged flare in the young lady's eyes.

"My amount of pride is equal to your arrogance, which cannot be compared to anything ever on this earth. So it should suffice to say that if I am 'insufferably prideful', then you, my lord, are incurably full of rubbish."

"I always did like a bit of bite in my prospective wife, so that I could quash it out of her," Beckett responded darkly, his icy blue eyes glinting with a dark humor.

Before Charlotte could even question his strange remark, propriety demanded her silence as the boring hour of tea commenced with little excitement. Her interest drifted as talk grew boring, and she found herself absently tracing the gold rim of her teacup, silently cursing Eleanor for lacing her corsets so tightly.

"-and escort Lottie to the ball. It would be the perfect way to establish your courtship."

"Wait. What?" Charlotte glanced up at her mother quickly, her attention caught at the mention of her 19th birthday celebration and her name.

"Why, Lord Beckett will be escorting you to your ball, my dear! After all, it'd be a wonderful way to begin your courtship, don't you think?"

Charlotte's brow furrowed at the reply, utterly confused and lost as to what was going on. Courtship? What was the woman raving on about?

"I see you are confused, pet," Beckett smirked, noting the icy narrowing of Charlotte's eyes at the endearment, "I realized that you haven't been informed of the wonderful news. I have obtained permission to court you. Surprise, my dear."

Charlotte couldn't help but allow her jaw to drop in an unladylike manner, eliciting a sharp " _Charlotte, we ladies do not catch flies_!" from her scandalized mother. Well, perhaps the ability to catch flies would repel Beckett, she thought darkly, before shutting her mouth and raising her head up in petulance. Bloody hell.


End file.
